The Secret Life of Professor Moriarty
by andbreathe
Summary: What does Moriarty do in his spare time? Well, how should I know? All I know is that on a dull morning just before the events of the Great Game, his spare time became rudely interrupted by a crazed Time Lady set on world domination. Nothing unusual.
1. Borrrrred

Professor James Moriarty was drinking coffee. His feet were resting on the desk in front of him, about an inch in front of the keyboard. He was clasping a mug in his left hand and fiddling with his tie with his right.

Moriarty was bored. Bored, bored, borrrrred. He had so many brilliant plans to carry out, so many things to do. He could find a new way to have _fun_, which would probably include screaming. But could he be bothered?

He mulled over the concept for a few seconds. Nope, he couldn't.

Bored, bored, bored.

Boring soufflé with dull cream on top.

Moriarty lifted his feet off the desk and swung round on his chair. He carried on spinning for a few seconds. When he began to slow down, he set himself off spinning again. And again. And again.

Ok, that was boring too. He stopped and placed his feet on the floor.

Moriarty bent his knees forward. The chair rolled forward. He leaned back. The chair went back. Backwards, forwards. Backwards, forwards. Backwardsforwardsbackwardsforwardsbackwards.

Borrrred.

He looked into his coffee mug, which was bright pink with daisies on. The coffee swirled inside it. Dull brown coffee in a dull mug. Okay, the coffee in question was deliciously expensive civet coffee, made from beans hand-picked from civet cats' droppings (having been matured to perfection inside the cats' digestive systems), but it was still just coffee. Coffee, coffee, in a boring old mug.

Moriarty reached behind him for a wine glass that was sitting helpfully on the desk. He poured the coffee into it experimentally. Coffee in a wine glass. It was refreshingly interesting. He took a sip.

Nope, it still tasted like boring coffee.

He dropped his head onto the back of the chair. He was a genius, a genius with the resources and the authority to do whatever he *? !*!ing well wished. He could order his... friends... to throw themselves off a cliff and they'd have to do what he asked. So why was life so boring?

After a few seconds, he reached for his pistol and pointed it at the wall.

Nope, boring, plus he liked the wallpaper. He lazily swung it to face the door instead. He could cut a perfect rectangle in the door if he wanted. A tiny door, so he could provide facilities for elves. Elves?! Where did that come from? Why elves?

He laughed as a sudden thought came to him. He could have a whole army of elves, all squeaking as they hurried to obey his every command. If they didn't perform to standard he could decimate them.

Decimate. Now there was a nice word. Remove one-tenth... Yes, he could get them to stand in a line, and slowly walk up the ranks, the elves squeaking in terror while he looked on mercilessly... and when he got to the tenth... bang. Elf-brains everywhere. Did elves have brains? What even_ were_ elves? And why on earth was he even thinking this?

The boredom was taking its toll.

Moriarty took a careful aim. His secretary could clean up afterwards. Did he have a secretary? If he did, this would be a nice surprise. A secretary doing his cleaning because he so thoughtfully blew a hole in the door. He smiled to think of it. Secretaries didn't do cleaning, but who cares? Serves them right for working for him. He curled his finger elegantly around the trigger.

Then _she_ walked in.

**AN: Sorry, it's a cliffhanger! This story is a bit of an experiment and I don't know how it's going to turn out. If you're reading this, thank you for taking a look! **


	2. Things begin to go wrong

"Put the gun down," she said sweetly.

She looked like Mary Poppins. Right down to the umbrella, which was obsidian black and clasped in one of her gloved hands. Who in their right mind would dress like that? Especially the hat; it was sickly to look at. It looked like somebody had exploded a fruit bowl over her head. She was wearing Victorian-style clothes: a black jacket and a skirt so pinched at the waist it was painful to look at.

He stood up. For some reason, she looked familiar. He took long, slow steps towards the woman, still holding his gun in front of him. "And who are you?" he asked.

"Oh, nobody special," she said silkily. "I just popped in to say hello."

Moriarty looked at her for a few seconds, and then groaned. "You're not one of those infernal forces for good, are you? I had one of those break in yesterday. The same old story: revenge for the death of their sister, which, interestingly, I wasn't anything to do with." He stopped as he saw that the woman was watching him with something like- amusement? What on earth? "He was soon disposed of," he added. No reaction from the woman.

"Oh, I once tried to be a force for good," said the woman. "It didn't work. It was just too boring."

Interesting. "You're challenging me."

"Not at all. I merely came to seek... help."

"You must realise I am not the sort of person to give favours."

"Of course."

Moriarty froze. There was something in that tone. "You're threatening me, yet you are the one at the point of the gun."

The woman sighed, and pointed her umbrella at Moriarty. He raised an eyebrow. What was she going to do, kill him with bad fashion taste? He tightened his finger on the trigger. "I'm warning you..."

"Likewise," she said. There was a buzzing noise from the umbrella, and his gun exploded into billions of little bits. He was left holding only air.

There was a silence. "Impressive," he said after a few seconds.

She smiled. "_So_ nice of you to say so. And now we can talk."

"You want to bargain?"

"Bargain is such a friendly word. No, I want to... blackmail."

"Oh?" said Moriarty.

"Oh yes. You are now the one at the point of the gun. And you like being alive so much, don't you, James? So you be a dear and... assist me."

"There's nothing I would like better." Moriarty plastered a smile on his face, but was grimacing inside. How could so much go wrong in one morning? Now he was the one at the end of the gun, at the mercy of some madwoman. It was a new experience, he supposed.


End file.
